


The Chosen Ones

by Neena



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Quantum Leap
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Apocalyptic Situation, Best Friends, F/M, Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:31:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4009471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neena/pseuds/Neena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam leaps into the life of the Slayer, and faces his greatest challenge yet: save the world…and his friendship with Al.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Season 6 of Buffy, and Season 4 (or thereabouts) of Quantum Leap.

Theorizing that one could time travel within his own lifetime, Doctor Sam Beckett stepped into the Quantum Leap accelerator and vanished. He awoke to find himself trapped in the past, facing mirror images that were not his own and driven by an unknown force to change history for the better. His only guide on this journey is Al, an observer from his own time, who appears in the form of a hologram that only Sam can see and hear. And so Dr. Beckett finds himself leaping from life to life, striving to put right what once went wrong and hoping each time that his next leap will be the leap home. 

As the blue, sparkling lights faded around him, Dr. Sam Beckett braced himself. For what, he didn’t know, but he’d learned over the years that the first few minutes of a leap could be…hazardous.

He was immediately aware that he was alone at night in a dark alley. Not much to go on, but it was a start. Other than that, the only thing he was certain of was that he hadn’t leapt home. Not that he honestly expected he would anymore. He’d lost track of how many years he’d been trapped in the past, but he had a feeling that if he were to look in a mirror and see his own reflection, he’d find a few more wrinkles and grey hairs than he remembered.

Sam shoved those depressing thoughts to the back of his mind and tried to focus on his new situation. First off, who was he this time? Sam looked down at himself and saw that he was wearing a red, low-cut halter-top and black pants. Great—so he was a woman again. Ha-ha, very funny, he thought. But at least the woman he’d leapt into wasn’t wearing stilettos.

As he walked down the alley towards the street he felt something digging into the small of his back. Sam reached behind him and pulled a sharp, wooden stake from the waistband of his pants. Odd, he thought. But he didn’t have time to fully contemplate the oddness of it.

From behind him he heard a deep-throated growling. Sam turned around, expecting to see a large dog, or maybe a wild animal. But the growl had come from a man—a tragically disfigured man—who sprang at him with such speed that he didn’t have time to react. The impact sent him flying into the brick wall behind him, knocking the air out of his lungs. Struggling for breath, Sam barely dodged out of the way as a fist came barrelling towards his face.

The man’s knuckles collided with the brick wall next to Sam’s ear—a move that should have had his assailant whimpering on the ground in pain. But to Sam’s astonishment, the man’s fist punched a hole into the wall and he didn’t even flinch.

“What the…?” Sam said, but again, there was no time to think. The fist had just gone through a brick wall like it was Styrofoam and it was headed for his face again. This time it connected painfully with his left cheekbone, snapping his head back to bang sharply against the wall. Sam slid down to the ground, blinking away stars. “Oh boy.”

“Is that all you’ve got?” the man sneered at him. It was then that Sam noticed his teeth. They were filed down to sharp points to look like fangs. Or perhaps, he thought, they actually were fangs. But of course, that was ridiculous, wasn’t it?

“Get on your feet, Slayer,” said the man.

Sam slowly picked himself off the ground. Not because he was ordered to, but because he stood a much better chance of defending himself if he wasn’t lying prone against a wall.

If this guy thought he’d picked an easy target, he was in for a surprise, Sam thought. Drawing on his sketchy memory of ju-jitsu, he aimed a kick at the man’s head. It should have been enough to lay him out, but the man merely staggered back a step or two and smiled.

“My turn,” he said, and with blinding speed, grabbed a fistful of Sam’s hair.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw a young, dark-haired man standing at the end of the alleyway.

“Help!” Sam yelped, as he was thrown face-first into the concrete. He lost a fair bit of skin on his forehead, and his ears were ringing from the blow. But all he could think about was flagging down help before he took any more of a beating. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and looked around to see if the dark-haired man was coming to his aid or not. But he was still standing at the end of the ally, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Buffy, would ya quit toying with him? It’s time to call it a night,” said the young man.

Sam started dragging himself across the pavement towards him, but his assailant nabbed him by the foot and flung him effortlessly into a dumpster several feet away.

“Buff?”

From inside the dumpster, Sam heard the sound of running footsteps and a short skirmish. When a hand reached for him over the rim of the dumpster, he backed away from it. Then the young, dark-haired man peeked over the top at him and waggled his fingers.

“Buffy? What are you doing in there? C’mon.”

Okay, Sam thought, so my name is Buffy and this guy seems to know me; but if he’s a friend he has a funny way of showing it.

Sam took the offered hand and clambered gracelessly out of the dumpster, landing with an unceremonious thump on his backside. The young man helped him to his feet, and for the first time looked concerned.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“No, I’m not okay,” said Sam a bit peevishly. “I just got beat up and thrown in the trash.” The deep scrape on his forehead chose that moment to drip blood into his eye, and it stung. He hissed, wiping the blood away with his hand, then tenderly prodding the injury.

“Where’d he go?” asked Sam, looking around warily.

“Oh, him? He’s dust,” answered his new companion casually.

As Sam limped his way down the alley, the young man seemed to grow more and more concerned.

“We’d better get you home, let Giles take a look at you—you’re a mess.”

Sam hoped this Giles was a doctor, because right now he could really use one. He’d twisted his knee, scraped his forehead, been punched in the face, and he was pretty sure he had a concussion—the sooner he got there the better. But to his dismay it looked like they had to get there on foot.

The young man kept up a litany of chatter as they walked. Through the pounding of his head, Sam tried hard to follow what he was saying. He managed to catch a few names—Willow, Tara, Anya, and Dawn—but he couldn’t figure out the relationships. From what he could tell, they were all friends, except Dawn, who they seemed to be looking after. A younger sister, maybe? Sam kept silent as much as possible, letting his new friend ramble on. Most of it didn’t make sense: Tara was mad at Willow because of a spell…and they were worried about Buffy ever since the whole ‘dragged out of Heaven’ thing. Sam naturally presumed his young guide was just a colourful storyteller.

And speaking of guides, where was Al, he wondered. Something about this leap was, as his friend would say, a little hinky. It would help to have a few questions answered.

“Uh…Buff? Where ya going?” asked the young man from behind him. Sam stopped and turned around—he hadn’t been paying attention and he’d kept walking straight when he should have followed Buffy’s friend. He was standing in front of a house that was obviously their destination.

“Sorry,” said Sam. “I, uh, must have been daydreaming.” He limped past him towards the house, ignoring the weird look he was getting.

By the time he got inside, all Sam could think about was sitting down. His knee was swelling and it ached horribly. Sam kicked off his shoes (they may not be heels, but it seemed to him that all ladies’ footwear were implements of torture) and headed for the couch.

“Stay put, I’ll call Giles,” said the young man, and after a moment’s anxious hovering, he disappeared into another room.

Now would be the perfect time to do a little snooping and find out a thing or two about Buffy. Just so long as it didn’t involve getting off the couch. Sam looked around. There was a framed photograph on the end table, which he picked up and studied. One face he recognised—the dark-haired boy grinned back at him goofily from behind the glass. The two girls in the picture were a mystery. They were both young and happy, one a blonde, the other a redhead. Sam tilted the frame until he could see his reflection in the glass. Right—so Buffy was the blonde. Cute—aside from the gash on her forehead and the bruised cheek, of course.

“Okay, he’ll get here as soon as he can,” the young man said as he re-entered the room.

“Does he often make house calls in the middle of the night?” asked Sam.

“Only for you,” he answered. “You always were Watcher’s pet.” Again with the cryptic answers—it was starting to make his already pounding headache worse. “How are ya doing?”

“My knee is swelling to the size of a football, and there’s a mariachi band in my head,” Sam replied.

The young man frowned. “Tell you what, I’ll whip us up some hot chocolate—why don’t you run upstairs and grab a Tylenol?”

Once again Sam was left alone in Buffy’s living room as her friend took off to the kitchen. With a sigh, he levered himself off the couch and limped his way over to the staircase. It looked daunting, but there was Tylenol at the other end and that was incentive enough to climb the stairs.

When he finally made it upstairs he was confronted with a long hallway and four closed doors. Sam tried the first one, which turned out to be a girl’s bedroom…and it was occupied. A young girl with long, glossy brown hair was sitting cross-legged on her bed, writing in her diary.

“What? You don’t knock anymore?” said the girl, quickly stashing the diary under her pillow.

“I, uh…” Sam stumbled.

“I was just finishing my homework, okay? I’ll turn the light out in a minute.”

"Uh, good. That’s good,” said Sam, slipping quietly out of the room. That must be Dawn, he decided. And she was definitely Buffy’s little sister. His own little sister had used that tone of voice on him countless times.

Sam was a little more hesitant to open the next door, and he decided it might be better to knock first just in case. The red-haired girl he’d seen in the picture answered the door. The lights were off in the room, and there were candles lit everywhere...and there was someone in the bed.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” said Sam.

“Tough night, huh Buffy?” she asked. The figure in the bed sat up, and Sam realised it was another woman.

“What?” said Sam, momentarily distracted.

“You got hurt,” she explained. “I’d kiss it better, but, you know…Tara might take it the wrong way.”

Aha—Tara. That must mean the redhead was Willow. “I see you two have made up,” said Sam, hoping he’d assumed correctly.

Willow positively beamed; “Um, we’re kind of in the middle of making up right now, if you know what I mean.” The girl on the bed ducked her head and waved at him shyly.

“Well in that case, I’ll leave you alone,” said Sam, wondering if his blush was as bright as it felt.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be all right?” asked Willow.

“I’ll be fine. Giles is coming.”

Willow’s smile grew even larger.

“What?” asked Sam, knowing he was missing something.

“Nothing,” said Willow quickly. “I’m sure Giles will take good care of you.” And with a conspiratorial wink, she ducked back inside the room and closed the door.

Sam continued down the hall feeling increasingly confused. This had to be one of his most puzzling leaps—just how many people lived in this house? It occurred to him that they might be college students, sharing rent to save money. That would explain a lot, actually. Sam smiled a little—college. He liked the idea of being a student again, even in the guise of a petite blonde girl named, of all things, Buffy.

The next room turned out to be the bathroom. Finally. Sam was pleased to find that he had the place to himself. In the mirror over the sink Buffy’s face looked back at him, and he hated to see the mess he’d made of it. Dried blood coated half of it, and he was sure it was going to leave a nasty scar. Then he wondered whose scar it would become. Would he take it with him when he leaped? Would Buffy inherit it? He had no idea, but scientific queries would have to wait—there was Tylenol to be had. Behind the mirror he found the mother lode of all first aid kits. The shelves were packed full with bandages and pill bottles, some seriously potent prescription medications and enough gauze and iodine to treat a field army. He had to dig, but he eventually found a bottle of good old-fashioned Tylenol. Sam palmed two of them and closed the cabinet. He frowned at Buffy’s reflection, wondering to himself what possible need could they have for all that stuff?

He shrugged it off and filled the sink with warm water. He did his best to clean the scrape, trying to dig out the dirt and tiny pebbles that had imbedded themselves under his skin. The result wasn’t great, but it would do. The dirt was gone, the caked blood was gone, but the wound looked angry and red.

“Sorry,” he said, as if Buffy might be able to hear him.

The last door at the end of the hallway had to be Buffy’s. Sam knocked anyways, in case she shared the room with somebody, but when nobody came to the door, he assumed it was safe and he went in. It looked like a comfortable room to live in. It was clean, but not fussy, feminine, but not girly. The only thing in the room that looked like a throwback to her younger years was a little stuffed pig sitting on the pillow of her bed. He wondered what stories it could tell him if it could talk. But the pig wasn’t giving anything away—he’d have to get his answers elsewhere.

First things first, though. He had to find something else to wear before his knee swelled to the point where he’d have to cut his pants off. Sam dug through her dresser, but pretty much everything she owned seemed to be designed more for fashion than for comfort. At last he came across some pyjamas that were covered in pictures of sushi. Not the most dignified sleepwear imaginable, but they looked loose and comfortable. He changed into them quickly, half expecting Al to show up while he was naked. He had a knack for appearing at those moments, especially when his host was a cute blonde. But he managed to change without interruption, and he was left wondering why Al still hadn’t arrived.

Sam sat down at the desk next to the window and started looking for anything that might tell him more about Buffy and what he was here to do. Right off he was rewarded with a page-a-day calendar torn off to October 22, 2001. Was that even possible? His brain might be Swiss-cheesed, but he was pretty sure he’d started leaping in 1997. He’d never leapt past the date of his first leap, as far as he knew. Theoretically he supposed it was possible, assuming he’d been leaping for more than four years. But it was a first, and that might explain why it was taking Al so long to find him.

So that took care of the when part. Now to find out about the who. He always felt a little guilty going through other people’s things, but it was a necessary evil in his line of work. There was nothing helpful in the first two drawers, but in the third… Sam stared at the bizarre array of weaponry and paraphernalia in disbelief. There were several stakes like the one he’d found in the back of Buffy’s pants, but that wasn’t all. There were bottles of holy water, two brass crosses and a double-headed axe that looked deadly sharp.

Had he leapt into a serial killer, he wondered? He almost laughed—it was ridiculous—there was no way this girl could pose a threat to anyone, she had to be all of a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. Plus his gut told him that she couldn’t possibly be a murderer. Still, things were obviously not as normal as they appeared to be. Just as he was about to close the drawer and move on, his eye caught sight of a photograph hidden underneath a weathered old Bible. He picked it up and brought it closer to get a better look.

The girl in the picture was Buffy, looking carefree and spectacularly happy. And standing next to her was an older man, looking at Buffy with an odd expression on his face—pride? Curiosity? Love? Sam couldn’t tell, but once again there was more going on beneath the surface.

There was a soft tap on the door, followed by an equally soft British voice. “Buffy? Can I come in?” The door opened a crack and a man appeared. The same man he’d just seen in the photograph.

“Giles?” asked Sam, and for the first time in an impossibly long time, he felt safe.


	2. Chapter 2

Giles entered, bringing with him an air of calm control that immediately put Sam at ease. His instincts told him that this was a man he could trust. Why he was so certain of it he couldn’t say, but he’d learned to have faith in his instincts.

“Xander told me what happened,” said Giles. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” said Sam, but he was smiling. Xander—now he finally knew the young man’s name! He secretly thanked Giles for filling in the gap.

“Mind if I take a look?” asked Giles, taking a tentative step forward. Sam nodded and took a seat at the end of Buffy’s bed. Giles crouched down next to him and began a gentle inspection of the scrape on his forehead. For a moment their eyes met, and Sam experienced firsthand the look he’d seen in the photograph. Giles’ eyes belied a maelstrom of emotion covering everything from pride to worry. And somewhere, deep down in the mix, Sam was sure he saw…

Sam’s breath caught in his throat as his pulse raced—something of Buffy must have stayed behind when he leaped into her, because the feelings he was having now were definitely not his own.

“And—and your knee?” asked Giles with a slight clearing of his throat.

Sam rolled up the pyjamas so that his injured knee was exposed. Giles studied it with a deep frown, and then gently prodded it, making Sam wince.

“Sorry,” said Giles. “Can you bend it?”

“A bit,” said Sam, and he demonstrated for him.

“Hmm.”

“I, uh, I think I might have a concussion, too,” said Sam, licking his suddenly dry lips. “I’ve got a pretty big lump on the back of my head.”

“Where?” asked Giles.

Sam directed Giles’ hand to the spot where his head had hit the brick wall. The movement brought them face to face again, and once again Sam felt things he shouldn’t be feeling.

“And all this happened an hour ago?” asked Giles.

“Give or take.”

“Have you noticed any improvement at all?”

“Improvement? It’s only been an hour—if anything I feel worse now than I did before. It was a long walk home, you know, and that guy in the alley really did a number on me. And I know this might sound a little strange, but there was something weird about him. He was fast—abnormally fast—and I swear he threw me more than ten feet into that dumpster.”

“That man in the alley?” asked Giles, though why he found that part most interesting was a mystery to Sam. “I think I’d better keep an eye on you tonight.”

“Then you think I might have concussion?” asked Sam.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, the concussion,” said Giles distractedly. “Would it be alright if I slept on the couch?”

“Do you really need to ask?” said Sam brazenly, and now he knew for certain that something of Buffy had rubbed off on him.

That got Giles’ attention, and he smiled warmly at Sam. “Try and get some rest, Buffy. I’ll be up in a while to check on you.” He gave Sam one last emotionally packed glance and then he was gone.

Sam let out a sigh—as if this leap wasn’t strange enough, he now had to deal with Buffy’s infatuation with her doctor. What he wouldn’t give to have some answers, he thought. And as if in answer to his thoughts, Sam heard the imaging chamber door open and Al stepped into the room through the bright rectangle of light. He looked frazzled.

“Al! Where have you been?” asked Sam in a hushed but urgent voice.

“Huh? Oh—I’ve been with our guest in the waiting room. She’s really something else, let me tell you.”

“Al, this is a seriously messed up leap! The minute I got here I was attacked by some freakishly strong guy in an alley…”

“Yeah, well I’m afraid that’s gonna be par for the course while you’re here, Sam. This girl you leaped into…”

“Buffy.”

“Buffy Summers—I meant it when I said she’s really something else,” said Al. “You have no idea just how something else she is.”

“Not you, too,” said Sam. “Al, the people here talk in riddles. I was hoping to get some straight answers from you, at least.”

“Oh, I’ve got answers,” said Al. “But every single one of them is as crooked as they come.”

“Al…” Sam warned. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, fighting off a brand new headache.

“Okay, but this one’s a doozy, so bear with me,” said Al, and he took a deep breath in preparation. “This Buffy girl showed up in the Waiting Room, but she wasn’t scared or confused like our guests usually are; she just seemed pissed off. Then she asked to see whoever was in charge, so I went in and gave her the usual spiel about time travel and showed her a mirror. Didn’t even faze her.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. This girl must be made of some pretty tough stuff to shrug off something as huge as time travelling into the future.

“Exactly,” said Al, as if reading his mind. “Next thing, she asks me if we were part of the Initiative. I said I’d never heard of it, and she said she didn’t believe me. So I had Ziggy run a check on this Initiative, and the next thing I know we’ve got the DOD and the NSA breathing down our necks with a cease and desist. Wait, it gets better,” said Al, warming up to the role of storyteller. “While we were tied up with the suits from Washington, Buffy gets it in her head to try and escape.”

“But there’s no way,” said Sam. “The Waiting Room door is reinforced steel…”

“…and bolted from the outside, I know,” Al finished with a devilish grin. “But Buffy was able to break down that door with a single kick, and then she managed to knock out half the security guards in the building before I could get to her and talk her down.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s more?” asked Sam reluctantly.

“Because there is. A lot more. It took a lot of talking and a tour of the facility before I could convince her what I’d told her was the truth. And then I told her that if she wanted to get back home, she’d better start helping us instead of fighting us…” Al paused for dramatic effect.

“Well?” Sam prompted.

“So here’s the real kick in the butt, Sam; you’ve leaped into The Chosen One: the one girl in all the world with the power to fight vampires and demons and the forces of darkness.” Al waggled his eyebrows at Sam and waited for the inevitable reaction.

Sam chuckled. “C’mon, Al! She’s having you on! You know there’s no such thing as vampires and demons.”

“Yeah—and until recently you believed there was no such thing as the Devil,” said Al, rocking up on his toes in triumph. “She’s the Slayer…”

“The Slayer—that’s what the guy in the alley called me,” said Sam, getting pulled in despite himself.

“That’s ‘cause you are—or she is. And a guy by the name of Rupert Giles is her watcher.”

“Watcher’s pet…” Sam muttered as another piece of the puzzle fell into place.

“He’s kind of like me, in a way,” said Al. “He guides Buffy—helping with her training and researching whatever new evil they come up against.”

There was a tapping at the door. “Buffy? Are you decent?” It was Xander, come to bring him his hot chocolate.

“Yeah. C’mon in,” said Sam.

The door opened and Xander entered looking slightly nervous and holding out the mug of chocolate like a peace offering.

“Giles said you were…a little less than full strength,” said Xander. “Sorry if I was, you know, less than totally sympathetic earlier.”

“That’s Alexander Harris,” said Al, poking at his multi-coloured hand link. “Xander to his friends. He’s one of the Scoobies—one of the few people who knows Buffy’s the Slayer.”

“Thanks,” said Sam.

“You’re welcome,” Xander and Al said in unison. Sam glared at Al, who shrugged and pulled a cigar from his pocket and lit it.

“Hey—remember that man in the alley?” asked Xander in a falsely cheery voice.

“Careful, Sam, he’s testing you—I think they might be on to you,” said Al.

“You mean the vampire?” asked Sam, hoping he wasn’t making a complete fool of himself.

Xander relaxed visibly. “Thank God! Giles said that whatever happened to you tonight might have knocked out some of your memory. I so didn’t want to explain the whole Hellmouth thing to you.”

“Hellmouth?” Sam exclaimed, realizing his slip too late.

Xander sagged. “Great. Then I guess it’s a crash course in Slaying for you. Where do I begin?”

“Oh, this is good, Sam,” said Al. “Play along and he’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

“That’s okay, Xander,” said Sam. “Giles can fill me in later—he is my watcher, after all. Right?”

“Good point,” said Xander with a relieved smile. “Listen, I’d love to stick around, but Anya’s waiting up for me. See ya tomorrow, okay?”

“’Kay. ‘Night, Xander,” said Sam.

As soon as Xander was out the door, Al practically burst. “What’d you do that for, Sam? He was gonna spell it all out for you, and you send him away?”

“I’d rather hear it from Giles, okay?” said Sam irritably.

“What difference does it make?”

Sam opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. He didn’t have an answer…at least not one that Al would approve of. Al might be a liberal, open-minded man—about most things—but somehow Sam didn’t think he’d condone the kinds of feelings he was harbouring for Giles, even if they were Buffy’s feelings and not his own.

Sam decided it was time to change the subject. “So why am I here, Al?”

“Ziggy doesn’t know yet,” said Al, giving the hand link a whack for good measure, making it squeal in protest. “Hey, do you realize this is the first time you’ve leaped past…”

“…past the date of my first leap?” finished Sam.

“Okay, so you figured that out,” said Al, a little crestfallen at having his thunder stolen. “Well Ziggy says that it’s impossible. Apparently you designed the accelerator with fail-safes to prevent you from travelling into your own future.”

“But I haven’t travelled into the future—if I had, you would never have been able to find me.”

“You haven’t travelled into my future, true, but you have travelled into your own. Technically, you ceased to exist in our timeline when you stepped into the quantum accelerator.”

“That makes no sense,” Sam argued.

“Hey! Don’t look at me, kid. You’re the one who designed the damn thing. The point is, Ziggy had a real tough time locating you. She keeps going on about a convergence of conflicting timelines over Sunnydale in October, 2001.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” asked Sam.

“Hell if I know,” answered Al. “But it’s got Ziggy’s virtual panties in a twist.”

“Well tell Ziggy to untwist them,” said Sam, losing his patience. “We need answers here—if you haven’t noticed, this leap is beyond weird, Al.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” said Al. “In the meantime, try and squeeze as much as you can out of this Giles guy. What? What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing,” said Sam, quickly wiping the grin off his face. “Just…tell Ziggy to hurry, okay?”

With a brief nod of acknowledgement, Al jabbed a finger at the hand link and the imaging chamber door appeared. Al stepped into the light and was gone.

 

Sam was having a nightmare—the most realistic and horrifying nightmare of his life. He was standing in a field of corpses, bodies strewn over every inch of ground, countless pairs of sightless eyes staring up at him, revealing their last moments of terror. 

Sam wasn’t alone. Facing him across the field was a slim, blond man in a long leather duster. But not a man…a vampire like the one he’d encountered in the alley. The vampire’s yellow eyes were fixed on him as his blood-caked lips parted to speak…

“Buffy.”

Sam tried to run, but his feet wouldn’t obey him. The vampire leered at him, then suddenly, he looked human—smooth features, normal teeth, cold, blue eyes.

“Buffy?”

The voice hadn’t come from the vampire, Sam realized. In fact, the voice wasn’t part of the dream at all. Someone was trying to wake him up, but he couldn’t open his eyes. He struggled to get out of the nightmare, wading through dead bodies, the vampire at his heels.

“Buffy! Buffy, wake up!”

Sam felt a gentle tapping on his cheek and his eyes flew open at last, banishing the dark images of his nightmare to whatever crevice of his mind they had crawled out of.

“Giles!” said Sam. He tried to sit up in bed, but he was overcome with dizziness and he fell back against his pillow again.

“Shhh…take it easy,” said Giles soothingly.

“I was having a nightmare,” Sam explained, and rubbed his temples to stave off the pounding in his head. “But it was more than a nightmare…it was like it was really happening. And I couldn’t wake up.”

“One of your prophetic dreams?” asked Giles. Sam must not have been able to mask his confusion, because Giles immediately guessed the truth. “You have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” he asked, but he was more concerned than angry.

Sam was about to bluff his way out of it, and then he remembered he didn’t have to. He had an easy out—Giles had already suggested the possibility of amnesia. So instead, Sam nodded apologetically.

“What, exactly, do you remember?” asked Giles.

Sam decided the best tactic was to stick to the truth as much as possible. “I know I’m the slayer, and you’re my watcher. And I figured out that it was a vampire that attacked me, but I’m a little fuzzy on the rest.”

Giles got up and started pacing. And when that didn’t do the trick, he took a handkerchief out of his pocket and gave his glasses a thorough cleaning.

“So you’ve lost the part of your memory that deals with slaying, and judging by how slowly you’re healing, we can assume that you’ve lost your powers as well. But we won’t know to what extent until we run some tests.”

Sam didn’t like the sound of that, but he smiled weakly and nodded anyways.

“Tomorrow morning, when you’re feeling up to it, come by the Magic Box, alright?” asked Giles.

Great, Sam thought. Not only were there vampires and super powers, there was magic, too? But again, Sam simply smiled as best he could and nodded.

“Good,” said Giles. “Then tomorrow we’ll start from the beginning.” Giles smiled reassuringly at him, and Sam immediately felt more at ease.

“Okay. Goodnight, Giles,” he said.

“Goodnight, Buffy,” Giles replied, and he clicked off the light on his way out.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam was having the nightmare again. Same field of corpses, same blond vampire, same unnerving feeling that it was real…it was going to happen. And if this really was a prophetic dream, then it was important that he pay attention. Because maybe, just maybe, if he knew enough about what was going to happen he could prevent it from happening.

He took a closer look at his surroundings. They weren’t in a field as he’d thought at first, they were in a city that had been flattened, devastated. Buildings had been levelled, lamp posts and traffic lights, furniture and cars, all of it had been reduced to nothing more than scraps and rubble.

The vampire was coming, kicking his way through bodies and debris with equal indifference, his cold eyes fixed on Sam. Sam backed away, but tripped and found himself face to face with a dead body. He recognised her—it was the girl Willow had been with…Tara. Sam’s heart began racing. Lying a few feet away from Tara was Willow, her red hair matted against her crushed skull.

“No,” Sam groaned. “No, no.”

Xander lay to his right, his arms wrapped protectively around a beautiful young blonde woman. It hadn’t done her much good—whatever had killed the others had got to them as well.

“No!” Sam repeated, anger, fear and frustration building up inside of him. Then he saw what it was he’d tripped over and he scrambled to his feet. He felt a cold, numbing dread come over him, and he stood staring mutely down at Giles’ dead green eyes as the vampire drew closer and closer.

“What’s the matter?” asked the vampire in a rough, British accent. “Cat got your tongue, Sam?”

Sam’s eyes snapped up to meet the vampire’s in shock. The smirk said it all—the vampire knew who he was. But how?

Sam awoke with a start, covered in a cold sweat, his heart still hammering in his chest. “Giles!” he called out at the top of his lungs. Before he knew it he had the entire household jammed into his doorway—all of them looking very much alive and well…and worried.

Sam smiled sheepishly at them. “Sorry guys, didn’t mean to wake everyone up.”

Giles arrived at the back of the pack, looking rumpled and sleepy. “Buffy, are you all right?” he asked.

The others let him through, and one by one they headed back to their beds. Giles came up to Sam and sat down on the side of the bed, next to him.

“I had the dream again, Giles,” said Sam. “But this time it lasted longer. I saw more.” Sam proceeded to tell Giles every detail of the dream except one—he kept the part where the vampire called him by his real name to himself. When he finished, Giles frowned, and for a while he was silent.

“So…what do you think it means?” asked Sam.

“It means that Spike’s not as housebroken as we thought,” said Giles. “Buffy, I know you’d like to think he’s changed, and maybe he has to some degree, but we should never forget what he really is—a soulless vampire. And without that chip the Initiative put in his head, he’d have tried to kill us long ago.”

“Of course,” said Sam. “How could I forget that?”

Giles looked at him askance. “You don’t remember Spike, do you?”

“Not…as such.”

Giles sighed a little and hung his head. Then he looked at Buffy’s alarm clock. It was coming up on five o’clock in the morning. With an even deeper sigh, he turned back to Sam and fixed him with a look of heavy resignation, like he knew he wasn’t going to get any more sleep tonight.

“Okay, here it goes… You are the Chosen One,” he said. “The one girl…”

“…in all the world with the powers to fight vampires—yeah, I got that part,” said Sam. And to his amazement, he got a laugh out of Giles. “What?”

“In all our years together, you’ve never once let me finish that speech,” said Giles with a remnant chuckle and a look of fond nostalgia.

“Sorry,” said Sam.

“No, it’s quite alright. Boring speech anyway. Where should I start, then? The Hellmouth?”

Sam nodded, and for the next two and a half hours he sat in wrapt attention as Giles brought him up to speed. Then, just as his narrative was building towards the end of their battle with Glory, Giles stopped.

“What happened then?” Sam asked, completely caught up in the story. “The barrier between dimensions was opening, and I was up on the scaffolding with Dawn…”

Giles’ eyes shone with unshed tears and he looked down at his clasped hands. “You jumped,” he said quietly. “You knew it was the only way to save Dawn, so you jumped. You gave your life to save her…to save the world.”

When their eyes met again, Sam saw the raw pain in his expression and realized, perhaps for the first time, that this wasn’t just some elaborate tale—this was his life. And as crazy as it all sounded, it was real. Sam couldn’t help himself, in his need to take away some of his pain, he reached his hand up to Giles’ face and stroked his cheek.

“Hey—I’m here now, aren’t I?” said Sam, trying for a bit of light humour.

Giles smiled; “Yes, you are.”

“And it sounds like we’ve been in worse situations than this. I may not remember everything, but I do remember you, and I feel safe knowing you’ll be here to help me through this.”

Giles’ mouth twisted into a sad half-smile. “That’s what I’m here for,” he said, avoiding Sam’s eyes. Then he quickly got up from the bed and went to the door. “I’m just going to go back to the hotel and get freshened up. I’ll meet you at The Magic Box at ten o’clock, all right?”

“Sounds good,” said Sam. And as Giles left the room, Sam played back their conversation in his head, trying to figure out what he’d said or done to push Giles away.

Sam arrived at The Magic Box early and stood outside staring in through the front window. The store wouldn’t be open for another ten minutes, and he had no key. Inside, the blonde woman, Anya, was busy setting things up for the day.

Giles had mentioned, almost in passing, that Xander’s fiancée was an ex-demon. Sam watched as she puttered around the store, trying to spot any indication of her unusual history, but she looked pretty human to him. That’s when it hit him that he’d seen her before…in his dream, lying dead in Xander’s arms. Sam’s mouth went dry as images from the nightmare invaded his mind.

Inside, Anya looked up from her work and spotted Sam standing outside. Sam waved to her and she walked around the counter towards him. With a soft jangling of bells, the door opened and she let him in.

“You’re early,” said Anya by way of greeting. “You’re never early. And why did you come in through the front? Giles is waiting for you in the back.”

“Oh, yeah, the back,” said Sam. “Which is…?”

“In the back,” said Anya, looking at him like he was sporting the latest fashion in dunce caps.

“Right. Of course,” said Sam, and he hesitantly made his way through the curious little shop. Thankfully it was as simple as she made it sound. At the back of the store there was a short hallway ending in a fire exit. On the left was a washroom, and on the right there was an open door. Sam peeked inside, and saw that it was a storage room that had been converted into a personal gym, complete with punching bags and floor mats.

Giles stood up from the couch as Sam entered. He looked relaxed and comfortable, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt—he was obviously used to these training sessions. Sam, on the other hand, was anything but relaxed and comfortable. He’d raided Buffy’s wardrobe in search of some appropriate attire, but he couldn’t find anything that wasn’t skin tight and low cut.

“Are you ready?” asked Giles.

“As I’ll ever be, I guess,” said Sam. He reluctantly removed his jacket and hung it on the back of the door. He felt exposed and ridiculous wearing Buffy’s skimpy, spandex aerobics outfit. So naturally that’s when Al decided to make an appearance. Sam spun around at the sound of the imaging chamber door opening.

“Oh, God, Sam! What are you trying to do to me, wearing that tiny little outfit? Boy, if you weren’t my best friend…”

“Al!” Sam hissed.

“What was that, Buffy?” asked Giles.

“Nothing,” said Sam. He headed over to the mats where Giles was waiting, studiously ignoring his drooling holographic companion.

“I’m serious, Sam. You keep dressing like that and we’re gonna have the same problem we had when you leaped into Samantha Stormer. We’re talkin’ weeks on the couch with Dr. Beeks, here.” Sam chanced a sideways glare at Al before returning his attention to Giles.

“You should start out with a few stretches,” said Giles. “I’ve already warmed up, but so should you, especially if your powers are low. How’s the knee, by the way?”

“Much better, thanks,” Sam answered. It still hurt a little, but the swelling had gone, and he had no trouble bending or putting weight on it. Sam began with some leg stretches, putting as much pressure on the weak joint as he could bear. And that meant bending in ways that were clearly provoking his friend.

“Sa-a-a-a-m… Oh, if you could see what I’m seeing,” Al groaned.

There were times when Sam wondered if his friend was incapable of thinking about anything other than sex. The man was obsessed. Maybe some time on Verbeena Beeks’ couch was exactly what Al needed. With an evil glint in his eye, Sam decided to torture his friend…just a little. As he stretched, he deliberately showed off as much of Buffy’s lithe, young form as he could, eliciting numerous moans and complaints from his old friend.

“Ahem,” Giles cleared his throat. Sam had almost forgotten that Al wasn’t his only audience. He stood up straight and faced Giles, who was as visibly flustered as Al at his provocative display of aerobics.

“Warmed up enough?” asked Giles, a hint of strain in his voice.

“Ready when you are,” said Sam.

“Good,” said Giles. From a cupboard in the corner he pulled out some padding, which he then strapped onto his chest. “Now, I want you to hit me as hard as you can—we’ll see what we’re working with.”

“Wow! This guy’s got a big set of brass ones,” said Al. “If you’d seen the way she kicked down that door, you definitely wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of her punches.”

Even with the padding Sam didn’t like the idea of hitting Giles with everything he had. But if he held back, then Giles would have a false reading, and the whole training exercise would be pointless. So Sam wound up and fired his best punch straight into Giles’ chest, knocking the other man clean off his feet.

“Giles—are you okay?” asked Sam, kneeling over him.

“Fine. I’m fine,” said Giles, but he took Sam’s offered hand up just the same. “Are you sure that was your strongest shot?”

“I promise, I didn’t hold anything back,” said Sam.

“Well…it seems that your slayer strength is seriously depleted, then. But that was still a good, solid hit.” Giles removed the padding, tossing it onto the couch. “We still need to test your speed and responses. Come at me again, and don’t hold back.”

Sam charged him, but Giles easily sidestepped the attack.

“Again,” said Giles. “Concentrate this time.”

Once again Sam attacked, dusting off punches and kicks he hadn’t used since he’d first learned them, many years ago. As he and Giles sparred, Al kept up a running commentary, offering support and advice from the sidelines. For the most part, Giles was able to deflect most of the blows without breaking a sweat. If he was this good in training sessions, Sam could only imagine how formidable he’d be in a real fight. They kept at it for twenty minutes. The only reason they stopped was because Sam was starting to favour his injured knee. Giles looked like he could go on forever and never tire.

“How’re you feeling?” Giles asked.

Sam was sweating up a storm and was well out of breath; he’d be feeling this workout for a week. Still, he couldn’t let on that he was in worse shape than Giles. “I could use a hot shower,” he said. “But otherwise I’m fine.”

“It’s odd,” said Giles. “The strength isn’t there, and your reflexes are just better than average…but if anything, your technical fighting skills have improved.”

“That’s ‘cause he’s got a black belt in karate, among other things,” Al provided helpfully.

“Maybe some of your training stuck,” said Sam.

“What a novel idea,” said Giles with a quick grin. “Go on, then, wash up. I’ll meet you out front when you’re ready.”

Sam wandered into the washroom across the hall and was relieved to see they’d installed a shower stall. He was about to strip off and get in when he realized Al had joined him in the cramped little room.

“Al, do you mind?”

“Not at all,” he answered with a predatory leer.

“Why are you here?” asked Sam. “Have you figured out what I’m here to do?”

“Not yet, no,” Al admitted.

“Then what are you doing here? And don’t tell me you just popped in to say ‘hi’.”

“Can’t a guy pay a visit to his best friend without having to face the firing squad?”

“Sorry, Al. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just, well, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“That’s one helluva shiner you got there, Sam. You got banged around pretty good. You must have been in a lot of pain--it's no wonder you couldn’t sleep.”

For some reason, Sam couldn’t bring himself to tell Al about the dream that had plagued his sleep. Maybe it was because if he said the words ‘prophetic dream’ aloud, he’d be admitting that he believed it was real. Or maybe it was because talking about the dream would only stir up all the disturbing images and emotions he’d been fighting to suppress all morning.

“So, you’re telling me Ziggy’s got nothing new to tell me?” asked Sam, moving into safer territory.

“Well…”

“Well what?”

“Ziggy’s got this theory, but Gooshie and I think it’s a bit far-fetched,” said Al. “Ziggy’s convinced that this leap is impossible—that you couldn’t have leaped into 2001, unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless your leap was hijacked by someone or something outside of Project Quantum Leap.” Al chuckled unconvincingly, and Sam knew he put more stock in the theory than he was letting on.

“Al, if you haven’t noticed, it’s been a long time since the Project had any control over my leaps.”

“True, but this time, Ziggy believes that someone on the other team took control of your leap.”

“The other team?” asked Sam.

“You know… Him,” said Al, gesturing towards the floor with his smoking cigar. “Ziggy thinks that You-Know-Who leaped you into the life of the slayer so he could do away with two heroes at once.”

Sam chuckled and shook his head. “You think the Devil leaped me here to kill me?”

“Stupid, huh?” said Al. But it was plain from the look on his face that he didn’t think it was stupid at all.


	4. Chapter 4

Once Sam had cleaned up and changed into jeans and a t-shirt, he spent the rest of the day in The Magic Box, learning as much as he could about vampires and demons, both from Giles and from the extensive collection of books in the store. Meanwhile, Giles busied himself with trying to figure out what had happened to ‘Buffy’ to make her lose her memory and her powers. Sam knew it was a pointless exercise, but at least it meant they could sit at the same table, pouring over books.

As the day went on, the rest of the ‘Scoobies’ started trickling in to help out with the research on the latest apocalypse, and every single one of them commented on Sam’s sudden fascination with books. Apparently Buffy wasn’t known for her studiousness. But their teasing was light-hearted and it was clear that this was a very tight knit group. Sam supposed it was only natural that they’d become close—he’d seen the same kind of fellowship with soldiers. People who fight alongside each other learn a deeper kind of trust than most people will ever know. Still…an ex-demon, an accident-prone construction worker, a slayer, a watcher, a teenaged bundle of energy, and two lesbian witches made for a very odd ensemble.

With all the camaraderie and activity going on around him, Sam wasn’t surprised at how quickly he felt at home with these people. For once he didn’t feel like an outsider—the whole group had rallied around him to help him out. Sure they thought he was Buffy, but Sam figured that he and Buffy had a great deal in common. They were both chosen by fate, or time, or the powers-that-be to make the world a better place to live in. It was a heavy burden, but it was one neither of them had to face alone. Buffy had her support, Sam had his—and they were all working together on this one. It made facing impending doom far less horrifying than it should have been. Truth be told, Sam was more anxious about the butterflies he got in his stomach whenever Giles came near him than he was about the fate of the World.

At six o’clock, Anya summarily kicked everyone out of the store so she could close shop for the night. Sam gathered up Buffy’s gym bag and joined Tara, Willow and Giles outside. Xander had already taken Dawn home and was on babysitting duty for the night (a loose term, which Xander interpreted as pizza and movie night).

“Do you want us to come along on patrol tonight?” asked Willow. Sam did want them to come along, not only as backup, but also to act as chaperones. The thought of being alone with Giles for so long made his palms sweat and his heart race. Buffy’s emotions were unnerving him to say the least. But he also couldn’t rule out the possibility that the reason he was there was to make sure Willow and Tara went home and studied so they could pass their exams.

“That’s okay—you guys go home. Giles and I can handle patrol,” said Sam.

“Don’t worry, Willow, I’ll take very good care of her,” said Giles in a way that got all the butterflies in Sam’s stomach fluttering at once.

“Well, if you’re sure…” said Willow uncertainly.

“They’re sure,” said Tara, coaxing her girlfriend away from them. As Sam watched the girls walk arm in arm down the street, the full realisation of what ‘going on patrol’ meant, struck him. Tonight he was going to deliberately hunt down more creatures like the one that had tossed him around like a rag doll. Even with Giles at his side, he was starting to think Al had been right—maybe being Buffy was going to be the death of him.

“Shall I pick you up around eight o’clock?” asked Giles. But Sam’s mind was far away, contemplating demons and vampires and his chances of survival. Giles laid his hand on Sam’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Buffy, are you alright?”

Sam unconsciously leaned into the touch, feeling a deep, thrilling shiver run through his entire body at the contact. He looked at Giles, and his feelings must have been plain, because Giles sputtered and backed away like a shy, lovesick teenager. And that’s when Sam knew, without a doubt, what he was there to do.

 

Sam stood in front of Buffy’s bedroom mirror, checking out his latest choice in outfits. It was the fourth one he’d tried on, but it just didn’t seem right. The clam diggers were okay, but the white blouse was too frilly, too busy...and way too conservative. He needed something special—tonight he had to make an impression. Hell, he’d even gone so far as to voluntarily apply makeup! 

Sam rummaged through Buffy’s closet again and found a low-cut, clingy yellow top that looked like it might fit the bill. And just as he’d stripped out of the white blouse he heard the Imaging Chamber door open. Sam turned around and prepared himself for the usual depravity to ensue, but Al didn’t even seem to notice that his friend was half naked.

“Oh, Sam—this is not good!” said Al, pacing furiously, his brow furrowed deeply as he bashed the squealing hand link.

“Al, what is it?”

“What is it? It’s the end of the World, is what it is!” Al exclaimed, his hands gesturing madly in his panic.

“Calm down,” said Sam as he pulled on the yellow top. “Tell me what happened.”

“Ziggy’s losin’ it, Sam! The whole compound is locked down in a state of emergency. So far the Project’s been unaffected, but we don’t know how long it’ll stay that way.”

“Unaffected by what?” asked Sam.

“The apocalypse!” Al shouted, then he rubbed his forehead at the pain his shouting had caused him. “Whatever you’re doing back here, it’s brought about the end of the World!”

Sam started pacing. “Then tell me what’s changed so I can fix it.”

“How about your dying, for a start? Along with every human, plant and animal in the entire western hemisphere,’ Al said, gesturing profusely as the hand link wailed.

“That’s not what happens,” said Sam.

“’Course it is,” said Al. “I’m in a position to know!”

“But in my dream, Spike and I survived the apocalypse,” Sam murmured.

“Wait a minute here, Sam. You knew the apocalypse was coming…and you didn’t tell me?”

“It was a dream, Al! I didn’t think it was really going to happen.”

“Well it did,” said Al. “And you gotta stop it from happening, Sam. This is the big one.”

“Al, I can’t stop the apocalypse! I’m not the slayer.”

“You are today,” said Al.

Sam’s face lit up suddenly and he stopped pacing. “That’s it, Al—if I do what I’ve been sent here to do, then I’ll leap and Buffy can return in time to stop the apocalypse.”

“Yeah, but Sam, you’re forgetting that if your leap was hijacked, then you were sent here to get killed.”

“Humour me,” said Sam. “I think I know what I’m here to do—just tell Ziggy to forget about the apocalypse for a minute and treat this like any other leap.”

“Forget the apocalypse? That’s easy for you to say, Sam—you’re not here!”

“Just…do it, okay?”

Al griped some more under his breath, but he did as he was asked and punched the request into the hand link. The colourful little cubes lit up like a Christmas tree and it chirped at him in response.

“It’s no good,” said Al. “Ziggy says you’re not far enough into the past to get an accurate, long term reading.”

“Well something must have happened to bring me here…apart from your Devil theory,” he added, cutting off his friend before he could say it. “Were there any major changes in the lives of Buffy or her friends in the near future?”

“I wouldn’t rule out that Devil theory so quickly,” said Al. “Ziggy’s still convinced that it’s the most likely scenario.” Sam merely raised an eyebrow at him in reply, and Al gave in. “Fine. I’ll ask her.” He jabbed his finger at the hand link, punching in a new request, and then he waited impatiently for an answer. “Okay, here we go. Ziggy says the only big change to occur in the very near future was that Giles is going to move back to England on October 26.”

“That gives me a few days. If I can stop Giles from leaving, I’ll leap out of here.” Sam was grinning—it fit in perfectly with his theory of what he was there to do.

“Who’re you talking to?” came a voice from behind him. Sam spun around to see Buffy’s sister standing in the doorway, her arms crossed. She was staring at him like he’d grown a third arm.

“I, uh…I was just…”

“You’re such a geek,” said Dawn. “And what’s with the hot date shirt? I thought you were going on patrol with Giles.”

“Yeah, Sam, why are you all dolled up? And—ooh! Glossy pink lipstick!”

“I am going on patrol,” said Sam to both of them. “Is it a crime to look good while I’m doing it?”

“It should be,” said Al, his concern over the planet’s doom momentarily shelved as his libido finally kicked in.

“Whatever,” said Dawn. “I just came to tell you Giles is here, and he’s ready when you are.”

“Okay. Tell him I’ll be down in a minute,” said Sam, and Dawn disappeared in a whirl of shiny brown hair.

“Sweet kid,” said Al.

“Not bad, for a green ball of energy,” said Sam. “Look—I gotta go on patrol…”

“You want me to stick close and keep an eye out for you?”

“No—Giles and I have it covered. Why don’t you head back and try and keep everyone calm? If everything goes right tonight, you won’t have to worry about the end of the World.”

“What’s going on in that enormous brain of yours, kid? You’re not thinking of doing what I think you’re thinking of doing…are you?”

“Care to translate that?” asked Sam with a twist of a smile.

“You’re not planning on…with Giles…are you?”

“She’s in love with him, Al, I can feel it. A part of her didn’t leap, and I’ve been having these feelings…”

“Nuh-uh, Sam. Don’t be telling me that—I don’t wanna hear it.”

“And I’m almost a hundred percent sure he feels the same way about Buffy, only he hasn’t been able to tell her,” said Sam.

“I’m telling you Sam, I don’t want to hear it. You are not here to get Buffy and Giles together, so drop it.” Al was pacing now, and he seemed almost as upset about Sam’s admission as he had been about the apocalypse.

“Look, I know how you feel about this sort of thing, but I will do whatever it takes to save the World. So unless you’d rather see the powers of hell unleashed on Earth, I suggest you run my theory by Ziggy and see if I’m right.”

Al practically scowled at his best friend and stabbed the hand link with his finger. The Imaging Chamber door whooshed open, and without another word Al stepped through it.

 

The spongy soft ground in the cemetery muffled the sound of Sam’s footsteps as he crept from grave to grave. And if his footsteps were muffled then so were those of anyone else who might there—including the vampires. Sam was starting to jump at every tiny sound, certain that someone was following him. 

They were on their sixth cemetery of the evening. Knowing what he did about the Hellmouth, Sam wasn’t at all surprised that a town as small as Sunnydale had so many cemeteries, but what did surprise him was that the people of Sunnydale didn’t seem to think it was odd.

They were almost done their patrol for the night and so far there’d been no action—not with the vampires, and definitely not with Giles. Sam was worried that their earlier encounter had given Giles cold feet. He was pretty sure the reason he’d originally left for England was because he didn’t want Buffy to discover his feelings for her. If Sam was going to set things right, then he couldn’t afford to scare Giles off so early in the game. The other man had avoided all of Sam’s attempts at conversation, claiming they needed to stay focused. Plus, he’d kept himself at a safe distance, keeping within visual range, but far enough away to avoid contact. Right now he was ‘scouting ahead’, but Sam knew it was classic avoidance.

Sam was running out of alone time with Giles and was starting to think he should just throw caution to the wind and confront him, when he heard the distinctive sound of a twig snapping behind him. Sam twisted around in time to see a spark of flame light up a face he recognised all too well. Spike peered at him through the smoke of his freshly lit cigarette, and Sam’s blood ran cold. He was exactly like he remembered from the dream, right down to the scar that sliced through one of his eyebrows.

Sam stood frozen to the spot, too frightened to even call out for help. It was too soon—was this the end? Had he been wrong about the apocalypse?

“You had to go and bring the chaperone, didn’t you?” said the blond vampire. “You afraid to be left alone with me now? Afraid you might give in to temptation again?”

“Spike.”

“Like you were expecting someone else. We’ve got unfinished business, you an’ me.”

“Oh? And what business might that be?” asked Sam cautiously.

“Oh please, Buffy—let’s not pretend it didn’t happen. That game’s getting old.”

Beyond his fear, Sam was aware that he was feeling something else. It was twisted and warped, but he was sure he felt an attraction…only it was an attraction offset by equal parts revulsion and confusion.

“Now come here and give us a kiss,” said Spike, and he grabbed Sam by the wrist and yanked him closer.

“Never,” Sam said through clenched teeth, and with his free hand he reached behind his back to grab hold of the stake in his back pocket. But he wasn’t fast enough—as the wooden weapon arced towards Spike’s chest, the vampire snatched it out of his hand and snapped it in two.

“Now that wasn’t very nice, was it?” said Spike, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Feeling a bit playful, are we?”

“Let go of me,” Sam said with as much menace as he could muster. He was trying desperately to break free of Spike’s grasp and he was failing miserably.

Spike cocked his head at him and he dropped the macho bad-boy routine. “Buffy, are you alright? Something’s wrong—you’re not sick, are you?”

Sam was taken aback by Spike’s sudden about face. Whatever else was going on between Buffy and Spike, it was clear that he really cared about her…at least in his own demonic way. Sam was debating what he should do, when the sparkly blue lights of a leap suddenly surrounded him. He was confused—he hadn’t done anything yet, so why was he leaping? Then he realized that he wasn’t the one who’d leapt.

As the blue lights faded, Sam found that Spike had gone, and in his place was a stranger—a tall, red-haired man with a neck thicker than his head. His eyes were beady and the colour of amber, and they squinted at him curiously.

“Well, shi-i-i-t! If Lothos ain’t got the best damn timin’ ever!” the man exclaimed, revealing a thick, Southern drawl. “He done dropped you right in my lap an’ saved me a whole lotta walkin’. Dr. Sam Beckett, right?”

Sam felt a stab of fear—Al was right, there were other forces at work here. He remembered the name Lothos. It was a hybrid computer, like Ziggy, only it was used towards very different ends. And if this guy was working with Lothos, then he had to be stopped. The only thing working in Sam’s favour right now was that he was now dealing with a human instead of a vampire.

Or at least that’s what he thought until the man transformed in front of him, sprouting fangs, eyes turning red, forehead bulging. Sam redoubled his efforts to break free, but the vampire’s grasp on his wrist tightened until he could feel his bones grinding together.

The vampire laughed and shoved Sam hard to the ground. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue, Sam?”

Sam blinked up at the vampire with growing dread. With the contact between them broken, the aura surrounding the vampire was restored, and he looked and sounded exactly like Spike—his nightmare was coming true.

Sam tried to get to his feet, but a big, steel-toed boot slammed into the side of his head, knocking him flat on his back. Darkness pressed in on him, and as he began to lose consciousness he could only pray that the shout he’d formed in his mind had made it past his lips.


	5. Chapter 5

Even before he’d fully regained consciousness, Sam was aware that his chest was on fire with pain. The burning sensation made breathing almost impossible. He let out a groan, but it hurt so much that it ended as a whimper.

“Buffy, can you hear me?”

Sam nodded carefully and tried to move, but it caused an explosion of pain so intense that he started retching and almost blacked out again. He felt a cool hand on his forehead and he chanced cracking one eye open. Giles smiled comfortingly down at him, stroking his bangs from his eyes.

“Lie still,” he said softly. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got a few broken ribs. I came as quickly as I could, but Spike managed to get in a couple of powerful kicks before I could get to you. I’m so sorry I wandered off, Buffy. It was foolish and irresponsible of me. Another couple of minutes and Spike could have killed you.”

“It wasn’t Spike,” Sam said between gasps.

“I chased him off, Buffy—I’m afraid it was definitely Spike. There must be something wrong with his chip.”

“Looked like him,” Sam wheezed. “But it wasn’t. I saw him change—different vampire. Bigger. Red hair…” Sam had talked himself out of breath and struggled to get air into his lungs without re-igniting the fire in his ribs.

“Take it easy,” Giles ordered. “I’ll get an ambulance.”

“No. No ambulance,” said Sam. “I’ll be fine.”

“Buffy, you can barely breathe—in what dictionary is that the definition of ‘fine’? Now lie still and let me call for an ambulance.”

As good as the thought of intravenous drugs sounded, Sam couldn’t risk going to the hospital. He’d be hard pressed to explain why Buffy’s insides didn’t match her outsides. “I’m okay, Giles,” he wheezed. “Besides, all they can do for broken ribs is give me something for the pain, and I’ve got plenty of painkillers at home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Just give me a hand up.” It was a lot harder than it sounded. By the time he was up on his feet, Sam was drenched through with a cold sweat and the slightest movement made him nauseous.

“Perhaps I should carry you?” asked Giles.

“Thanks for the offer, but I think my ribs would rather you didn’t,” said Sam with an attempted smile.

They began their arduous journey home, keeping a close eye out for Spike along the way. If Sam hadn’t been in so much pain, he might have seen it as the perfect opportunity to get closer to Giles. But when he grabbed hold of the other man’s arm for support, romance was the last thing on his mind.

“Jeez, Sam! It’s only been a couple of hours and you’re already throwing yourself at the poor guy?” Sam heard Al behind him but refused to acknowledge his presence. “Well I just came by to tell you that your theory’s wrong,” Al said from behind him. “You’ve changed history, Sam. Giles no longer goes back to England on the 26th, and you’re still here. So that means my theory is right. You gotta stop with the matchmaking and concentrate on saving the World. Sam? Are you listening to me?”

Al, getting annoyed with the silent treatment, punched a command into the hand link and reappeared directly in Sam’s path. Sam skidded to a stop, momentarily forgetting that he couldn’t collide with a hologram, and the sudden movement made him wince in pain, sweat popping out on his forehead.

“God, Sam—what the hell happened to you?” asked Al. “You’re a mess.”

“Thanks,” Sam replied, dripping sarcasm.

“Take as long as you need,” said Giles, thinking that Buffy had simply stopped to catch her breath.

“Giles,” said Sam once he’d recovered, “that vampire—the one that kind of leapt into Spike—he said that he was working for Lothos.” Sam had intended the comment more for Al’s benefit, emphasizing the word ‘leapt’, knowing that Al would clue in to what he was implying, but it was Giles who reacted first.

“Lothos? Are you sure he said Lothos?” asked Giles.

“Very sure,” said Sam. “Why? Does that name mean anything to you?”

“Yeah, it means Ziggy was right,” said Al a bit smugly. “That evil computer kidnapped you.”

“You don’t remember Lothos?” asked Giles. Sam shook his head and took Giles’ arm again as they resumed walking. “It was before I became your watcher. It was your first time battling one of the ancients—a vampire so old that his increased powers made him nearly invincible.”

“But I killed it, right?” asked Sam. “Lothos is dead.”

“From all accounts, yes, I think it’s safe to say he’s dead. But Lothos had a large following. Perhaps one of those vampires found a way to possess Spike.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Sam with a slight peek at Al, who was busy punching requests into his hand link.

Al looked up at him, scratching his head in confusion. “I gotta go, Sam. I think I’m gonna need Buffy’s help on this one.”

“I don’t much like the sound of it, either,” said Giles as Al stepped through a door and into the future. “But first thing’s first—I’ve got to get you into bed.”

Sam looked at him with a sly smile, and Giles blushed hotly. “I didn’t mean…wh-what I meant was…”

“It’s all right, Giles, I got it,” said Sam, but he gave Giles’ arm a squeeze, just to keep him guessing.

Sam lay in Buffy’s bed, staring blankly at the ceiling and waiting for the drugs to kick in. He’d found a nice, morphine-based painkiller in the medicine cabinet, prescribed to a Joyce Summers. Giles had mentioned that Buffy’s mother had passed away recently, and judging by the potency of the drugs she was on, it had been rough.

He was starting to feel the first indications that the pills were working—his limbs were getting heavy and a bit numb, and the world was starting to spin in a pleasant sort of way. When Giles came in to check on him, Sam gestured for him to come closer.

Giles took a seat on the edge of the bed. “You should get some sleep—let the medicine do its job.”

“I don’t want you to go,” said Sam.

“You’d like me to sit with you for a while?” asked Giles.

“No. I mean…yes, but no. Don’t go back to England,” Sam blurted out, his eyes pleading with him. He felt a bit like he’d had one or two drinks too many and had no control over whatwas comingout of his mouth.

“You…knew?” asked Giles.

Sam nodded. “Promise me you won’t leave.”

Giles hung his head and sighed. “I promise I won’t leave you like this. I’ll stay until you’re back to your old self again.”

“And after that?” Sam asked, a little desperately.

“I honestly don’t know,” said Giles sadly. “You’re old enough to do this without me. I can’t be your mother forever, Buffy. But I won’t leave until you get your strength back. I promise.” And before Sam could protest further, Giles gave his arm a pat and left.

“Wait,” Sam called out futilely as the door closed.

“Wait for what?” asked Al, making a sudden appearance.

Sam jerked in surprise and hissed at the pain the movement caused him. “Al! Would you stop doing that?”

“You want me to wear tap shoes from now on?”

“It would be a start,” said Sam, his words slurring.

“What are you on, Sam? You look like the last guy to leave Woodstock.”

“Painkillers,” Sam answered. “Good ones. What did you find out from Buffy?”

“Pretty much what Giles already told us,” said Al. “Only, in Buffy’s version, there was another watcher named Merrick, who was killed before she could do away with Lothos. She seemed a little bitter about it, and she made it very clear that if Lothos was back, she wanted a crack at him.”

“Have you found a connection between the vampire and the computer?” asked Sam. His eyes were getting heavier, but he was fighting it.

“Nothing yet. Ziggy’s trying to figure out where and when the Lothos computer was built. I’ll get back to you as soon as I know more. I gotta say, Sam—things are getting pretty hairy on this end. As far as we can tell, the Project is the last thing left standing on the entire planet.”

“All the more reason for me to find a way to leap out of here,” said Sam. “Have you asked Ziggy about Giles?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah—remember? I said you’ve already changed history. Giles stays here in Sunnydale.”

“I know,” said Sam groggily. “But did you ask Ziggy about Giles and Buffy?”

Al’s expression darkened. “No, I did not,” he said stiffly.

“What is your problem, Al? I’ve played matchmaker countless times before.”

“This isn’t the same and you know it,” said Al.

“Because this time I’m the woman?”

“Exactly,” said Al, punctuating with his ever-present cigar. “It’s not…natural.”

“So you’d rather see the World come to an end than have me do something…unnatural…with Giles?”

“That’s not the point,” said Al evasively. “The point is you’re here to stop the apocalypse. Nothing else.”

“Then we’re in real trouble, Al, because right now I can’t even take a deep breath, let alone save the World.”

Al chewed on his cigar, trying to think of something to say that might back up his argument.

“You know I’m right,” said Sam. “Whether you like it or not, I’m here because Giles is in love with me…”

“You mean Buffy.”

“…and I’m in love with him,” Sam finished.

“You’re scaring me here, Sam. Buffy’s in love with him—Bu-ffy. Not you.”

“I don’t know anymore, Al,” said Sam sluggishly, finally giving in to the drugs.

Al stood speechless at the foot of Sam’s bed, wanting to vent his frustrations, but lacking the audience to do so. Sam was fast asleep.

 

Al stepped out of the Imaging Chamber and brushed past Gooshie and Tina without a word. 

“Hey!” Tina said in her pouty, little-girl voice. “Don’t I even get a ‘hello’?”

“Hello,” said Al brusquely and charged out of the control room. In the corridor he spotted Dr. Beeks coming his way and he turned tail and headed in the opposite direction.

“Admiral,” Beeks called out after him.

“I’m busy,” said Al with a dismissive wave of his arm.

“Al, stop.”

There was no arguing with Verbeena when she was in full head-shrinking mode. Al ground to a halt and waited for her to catch up, his back to her the whole time.

“I’m fine,” said Al before she could say anything.

“I’ll believe that when you can look me in the eyes and say it,” she answered smoothly.

Al turned around, looked Verbeena square in the eyes and froze up. The words just wouldn’t come out.

“That’s what I thought,” said Dr. Beeks, crossing her arms resolutely. “I’d like you to come with me, Admiral.”

“I’m kind of busy, Beena. End of the World and everything…you know how it is.”

“Or we could do this out here in the hall,” she said, standing her ground as two computer analysts scurried past. Al’s shoulders sagged in defeat. He was not going to win in a battle of wills against the relentless psychologist.

“Fine. Lead on Mac Duff,” he said, and followed her through the veritable labyrinth of hallways to her office.

Dr. Beeks waited until he was seated uncomfortably in one of her leather chairs before she started in on him. “Care to tell me what’s been on your mind these last couple of days?”

“How about the fact that the world outside the Project walls no longer exists? That’s pretty high up there,” said Al. He was perched on his chair like he was facing a jury of his peers. “I’m not the only one here feeling the strain, you know.”

“You’re right. Everyone’s scared, Al. Some are even panicking. But you’re the only one who seems to be angry. Why is that?” She’d trapped him in her intense, chocolate brown stare and Al started to squirm. “You know what I think?” she asked.

“No, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me,” said Al.

“I think you’re avoiding the bigger issue.”

“Bigger than the apocalypse?”

“For you? Yes,” said Dr. Beeks.

Al sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “You’re not gonna make me say it, are you? We’ve been through this before.”

“We have—nearly every time Sam leaps into a woman—but this time is different. Why?”

“Well, you haven’t seen this Buffy girl, have you? Talk about a knockout.”

“That’s a start, but it doesn’t explain the anger,” she said.

“And…maybe it makes me a little angry that Sam doesn’t consider the effect he’s having on me,” Al admitted grudgingly.

“Again, this is not new territory,” said Beeks, leaning forward in her seat. “You’ve dealt with this before—it’s only natural that seeing you’re closest friend in the form of a beautiful girl would be emotionally confusing.”

“Uh-huh,” said Al, but he didn’t sound convinced.

“You know it’s not Sam’s fault. He has no control over who he leaps into.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have to like it so much,” Al mumbled.

Dr. Beeks perked up a bit, sensing that she was getting to the heart of the matter. “What, exactly, does Dr. Beckett like about it?”

“Giles,” Al said quietly.

“I’m sorry, Admiral, I didn’t hear you.”

“Giles,” he said again. “Sam thinks he’s here to get Buffy and Giles together. He thinks…he thinks he’s in love with him.”

Beeks carefully studied her patient. She’d known Al for a very long time, and although he hadn’t said much, she was able to read a great deal into his facial expressions. He was trying to appear disgusted, but that was just a façade.

“You’re jealous,” she said, and leaned back to view the results.

Al’s eyes widened, betraying his shock, before narrowing defensively. “I am not jealous,” he said loudly. A little too loudly.

Beeks crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him. There was no need for words on her part—all she had to do was wait him out.

“Well, I’m not,” Al persisted, trying to keep his voice down. Once again Beeks remained silent, waiting patiently for the truth to come out. Al shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, feeling the sweat beading on his brow and upper lip. If he said it out loud there would be no going back. But it wasn’t as if she hadn’t already figured it out.

Al took a deep breath and shrank back into his chair. “Alright. Maybe I’m a little bit jealous,” he conceded. And to his surprise, Al felt relieved.


	6. Chapter 6

Beeks had Al so worked up over Sam that he hadn’t slept a wink, and he’d spent the entire morning sulking behind his desk, pretending to do paperwork. He’d already consumed half a bottle of antacid, trying to calm his churning stomach, but it hadn’t done much good. What he really needed was some serious denial. If he could get Buffy to help him find a way to stop the apocalypse, then his problem with Sam would be neatly solved. Or at least pushed back into the closet where it belonged.

Al swiped his security card through the lock on the new and improved Waiting Room door and waited for the green light. Everyone knew that Buffy could easily bust through the door if she wanted to, but Al had convinced her that she was safer inside if things got any more apocalyptic.

The door slid open and Al entered the room where Buffy was pacing like a caged animal. She looked up at him questioningly, probably hoping that he had good news. But Al’s expression must have told her otherwise, because she deflated before his eyes.

Al tried to empathise, but he just couldn’t—she was at the heart of all his troubles, after all. And even though he knew it wasn’t her fault, he still found it hard to remain civil. So until now he’d kept his visits with her short, asking only what needed to be asked and nothing more. But as much as he hated to admit it, he needed her help now.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we’ve run into a bit of a snag,” he said.

He quickly filled her in on what he’d neglected to tell her earlier; that a vampire had quantum leaped into Spike and was trying to kill Sam. She seemed to be less surprised than anyone else at the idea—but then, she dealt with the supernatural on a daily basis, so he guessed it only made sense.

“So we’re talkin’ a government sponsored program that somehow ended up in the hands of Evil Incorporated?” she asked.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Al agreed.

“Top secret kind of stuff?”

“As secret as it gets.”

“And you don’t know when this evil project was started—it’s possible it doesn’t even exist yet,” she said.

“What are you getting at?” asked Al.

“Doesn’t it seem weird to you that this vampire leaper didn’t show up until after you started prying into the affairs of the Initiative? Think about it—one secret government project, set up to capture and study demons, stumbles across another secret government project, tinkering in time travel—it’s a perfect ‘you got your chocolate in my peanut butter’ situation.”

“So you think the Initiative is the brains behind Lothos?”

“It makes sense,” said Buffy. “They have government funding, and handy access to vampires, some of which have life spans going back centuries—who better to time travel within their own lifetime?”

“Good point,” said Al. “It’s a bit hinky, but there’s a weird kind of logic to it. And I can see how the government might look past having an un-dead guy in the accelerator if they thought it might allow them to travel further into the past. But they would never provide funding for another time travel project so long as Quantum Leap is still active.”

“Hence the having to kill Sam,” she said.

Al’s heart nearly slammed to a stop. Of course the government wouldn’t fund a new project—not when they could simply hand over Quantum Leap to the Initiative and let them do a little creative reprogramming. And from what they’d witnessed of Lothos’ agenda, the Initiative had clearly lost control of their creation. With the demons at the helm, nearly all of history would become their playground. Only two things stood in their way: the slayer and Sam. They couldn’t very well leave Sam in the past where he might throw a monkey wrench into the works, and the slayer was a real challenge—kill her and another one rises to take her place. But trap her in the Waiting Room while they go back and kill Sam, and they effectively take care of both threats at once.

“We gotta get him outta there,” Al said.

“You only just figured that out?” said Buffy, earning her a scowl from the agitated Admiral. “Look, you told me that Sam can’t leap until he sets something right. Right? You must have some idea what he’s there to do by now.”

Al didn’t answer her. Why did it always come down to this, he wondered? Why did it matter so much that Buffy and Giles get together? There had to be some other way…after all, Sam might be wrong.

There was one way to find out. He fixed his eyes on Buffy and tried to ignore the fact that she looked like Sam. “There’s something I need to know,” he said at last. “Are you in love with Giles?”

Buffy blinked at him like he’d just slapped her across the face. “What, Giles? Don’t be stupid. He’s…he’s so…he couldn’t…and anyways, it would never work.” She tried to recover her composure, but it was too late—Al had seen it in her eyes.

Al nodded brusquely and left, feeling far worse for their conversation. There was only one thing left to do. Taking a deep breath, Al bolstered himself to commit to a course of action that he found distasteful. It was time to ask Ziggy the big question. He marched into the control room and ordered Tina and Gooshie to leave. They eyed him suspiciously, but did as he asked.

When he was sure he was alone, he addressed the computer: “Ziggy—any idea what the chances are that Sam’s supposed to get Buffy and Giles together?” he asked.

“I was wondering when someone was going to ask me that,” came Ziggy’s liltingly sensual voice from the ether.

“Just do the math and spare me the attitude,” said Al.

“What’s wrong, Admiral? You seem grumpy today. More grumpy than usual,” she purred annoyingly.

“Ziggy…” Al warned.

“Are you afraid you won’t like the answer?” Ziggy teased.

“Ziggy, if you don’t cut it out I’ll have Gooshie reprogram you with a mallet.”

“Ooh, Admiral! You’re sexy when you’re angry.”

“Ziggy!”

“All right, Admiral. If you really must know, there’s a 94 % probability that Dr. Beckett will leap if he succeeds in bringing Buffy Summers and Rupert Giles together.”

Al’s shoulders sagged. A part of him had been holding out for the possibility that Sam had been wrong—that all the evidence had been wrong.

“But,” Ziggy continued, “there’s now an 81% chance that Dr. Beckett will be killed shortly after sunset.”

“What?” Al shouted. “Why didn’t you tell me that first?”

“You never asked,” she said sulkily.

Al snatched the hand link from its cradle on the main console and charged into the Imaging Chamber.

“Maybe next time you won’t wait so long before asking the important questions,” Ziggy remarked as the door closed behind him.

Al walked through the door and into Buffy’s bedroom. Sam was asleep, blissfully unaware that he might have only a couple of hours to live.

“Sam! Sam wake up!” Al shouted. But the drugs in Sam’s system had him under so deep that he didn’t even hear him. “Sam! C’mon, buddy!” Al paced around the bedroom, trying to think of a way to get his friend to wake up.

Then there was a knock at the door.

“That’s good—knock louder,” said Al. But instead the door creaked open and Giles peeked in. “Oh. It’s you,” Al said flatly.

“Buffy?” said Giles as he approached the bed. “Buffy, can you hear me?”

“You’re gonna have to talk a lot louder than that,” said Al.

Giles sat down on the bed next to Sam, and Al could practically feel his feathers ruffling. “Don’t you get any ideas, pal. That’s my friend you got there—try anything and I’ll see to it that you walk funny for the rest of your life. Got it?” asked Al, knowing full well that he wasn’t going to get an answer.

Giles, oblivious to the threats being lobbed his way, reached out and cupped Sam’s cheek in his hand, stroking it almost absentmindedly with his thumb. Al began to pace.

“I want to stay,” Giles whispered, “more than anything. And that’s what frightens me.” Giles chuckled softly as he looked down at his sleeping slayer. “If you only knew… I never told you this, but that night, when I watched you fall from the scaffolds to your death, the greater part of me died with you. And when I got you back…well, let’s just say I couldn’t bear to lose you again.”

As Giles gently brushed away Sam’s bangs and laid a kiss on his forehead, Al watched on helplessly, feeling the venomous tendrils of jealousy uncoiling in his heart.

“I know you can’t hear me,” Giles continued, “but if anything should happen to me tonight, I hope you’ll understand that I did it for me as much as for you.” Once again he smoothed Sam’s bangs from his forehead, making him stir in his sleep, then he quietly got up and left before Sam could fully wake up.

When Sam’s eyes blinked open, the first thing he saw was Al hovering over him. “Al?” he said. “What time is it? How long have I been out?”

“I’ve been trying to wake you up, Sam,” said Al. “There’s been a development.”

“I don’t suppose it’s a good one?”

“No such luck, I’m afraid. Ziggy crunched some numbers…”

“And?”

“There’s an 81% chance that you’re gonna be killed just after sunset tonight.”

“I don’t see how,” said Sam, seemingly un-phased by the news. “I’m not going anywhere in the shape I’m in, so unless this vampire Lothos sent to kill me gets invited in… Oh boy.”

“Oh boy? I don’t like the sounds of that,” said Al warily.

“This vampire looks like Spike,” said Sam. “And Spike is a friend of theirs…”

“Oh—so you think one of them might have invited him in by accident?” asked Al.

“Al, I need to find Giles so I can warn him. Can you find out where he is?”

Al looked down at his hand link guiltily. “Uh…Giles just left before you woke up,” he said.

“Good, so he’s probably downstairs, then.”

“I don’t think so, Sam. He said something…I can’t remember the exact words, precisely, but I think he’s gone out to hunt down the vampire.”

“Al! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked,” said Al, figuring if the excuse was good enough for Ziggy, it was good enough for him. But Sam was glaring at him like he would smack a straight answer out of him if he could. “You wanna know why? Because I knew you’d go after him, Sam. And I knew that if you did that, you’d get yourself killed just like Ziggy predicted.”

“I might be in more danger staying here, Al. Can Ziggy at least narrow it down to a specific time and place?”

“Good idea, Sam,” said Al, punching the question into his hand link. But the colourful little control remained stubbornly unresponsive, even after a bout of Al’s abusive form of encouragement. “Ziggy! Answer me, you egotistical pile of circuitry!”

“What’s going on, Al?” asked Sam.

“It’s nothing,” Al answered. “Ziggy and I had a little tiff earlier.”

“Oh? About what?”

“Nothing important,” Al mumbled evasively, then yelled; “Gooshie! Can’t you do something? Help me out here.” Al stood waiting for an answer, but received none. Then he remembered that he’d asked Tina and Gooshie to leave the Control Room. “Gooshie!” he yelled louder, hoping the controller would hear him from wherever he was. When he still got no answer, Al jabbed at the hand link, trying to open the Imaging Chamber door. “Dammit!”

“Al, would you calm down?” said Sam.

“Ziggy, this isn’t funny—open the door. Right now,” Al shouted at the ceiling.

“Al…”

“I’m locked in, Sam!” said Al, with equal parts anger and fear. “Which means either Ziggy’s really pissed at me this time…”

“Or something’s happened at the Project that’s keeping them busy,” Sam finished. He flung the blankets off of him and struggled and grunted his way into a sitting position.

“What are you doing?” asked Al.

“I’m going to find Giles,” Sam answered.

“You’ll get yourself killed out there.”

“We don’t know that,” said Sam. “At least if I find Giles I stand a chance of doing what I came here to do so I can leap out of here. And don’t start with the lectures on morality—I’ve about had it up to here with your homophobia.” Sam peered at his holographic friend, waiting for the meltdown, but to his surprise, Al remained silent. He didn’t look too thrilled about it, but at least he was keeping his opinions to himself for a change.

Al watched Sam manoeuvre himself to his feet, wishing he could do something to help. He hated seeing Sam in pain, knowing there was nothing he could do for him. He’d never let on how much it bothered him before, but it was harder this time to hide his feelings, thanks to Beeks’ pulling the emotional carpet out from under him. What he wanted, more than anything, was to lock himself in his quarters for a week and drink until this whole mess became a fuzzy, distant memory. But that was out of the question. Even if he could get out of the Imaging Chamber, he owed it to Sam to stay sober.

Al could practically feel Sam’s questioning gaze drilling into him as they slowly picked their way down the stairs. Sam was no doubt wondering why he hadn’t said a word to him the whole time. Al pretended not to notice his friend’s concern. The last thing he needed was to be put through the ringer again today.

The house was quiet, with everyone either in classes or at work, and Sam was able to slip out without a hassle. But once he was outside, he stopped.

“Which way, Al?” he asked, breaking the tense silence at last.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” said Al. “I’m getting zip from the hand link.”

“Nothing at all?” asked Sam, unable to mask his anxiety.

“Nada. That’s not good, is it?” asked Al.

“Don’t worry—if anything apocalyptic had happened, you wouldn’t still be here, would you?”

“You’re forgetting the fail-safes, kid. The Imaging Chamber and the Waiting Room can withstand a ground level nuclear detonation. I could very well be the last man on Earth,” said Al in fearful awe.

Sam began walking purposefully down the street, as fast as his injuries allowed.

“Where are you going?” asked Al.

“I’m going to find Giles,” he answered.

“But you don’t know where he is.”

“I’ll find him,” said Sam determinedly. He kept walking, not caring if Al came with him or not.

With a deep sigh, Al tucked the useless hand link into his pocket and followed Sam to whatever the future had in store for them.

The sun was getting lower with every step they took, and Al was starting to get a bit antsy. “Maybe you should turn back, Sam,” he said for the hundredth time.

Sam didn’t answer him. He didn’t know why Al was freaking out so much about this leap—it’s not like he hadn’t been in dangerous situations before—but it was really starting to get on his nerves.

“Sa-a-a-m—it’s after sunset,” Al warned redundantly.

“Will you stop that? If you want to be useful, why don’t you walk ahead of me and let me know if there’s trouble.”

“Okay, but I’m telling ya, I’d feel a whole lot better if you’d head back home. This place gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“It’s a cemetery—of course it gives you the heebie-jeebies. I’ve got ‘em too, but I’m not going home until I find Giles,” said Sam adamantly.

Al shook his head sadly and walked ahead, patting his jacket pocket for his cigars. He sighed even more sadly—he’d already smoked the last one.

Al was barely out of sight before Sam heard him yelling: “There’s trouble! There’s big-time trouble!” Al came flying through the bushes in a frenzy. “Run, Sam! Run!”

The bushes rattled and swayed, and before Sam could follow Al’s sage advice, Spike appeared in the clearing. Their eyes met, and the vampire’s face lit up with a sadistic grin.

“Well, look who we have here,” said the blond vampire.

“Giles!” Sam shouted, blindly hoping that he might be within hearing range.

Running was pointless—Spike was on him in a heartbeat. But Sam’s adrenalin had kicked in, and the pain in his ribs subsided into a dull throb, allowing him to get in a few really good punches before the first blow hit him. He knew he couldn’t survive a prolonged fight, but if he could hold him off long enough…

“Sam! Get out of there. Aw, jeez, Sam!” said Al, gesturing madly off to the side.

The vampire had Sam pinned to the ground, the physical contact between them cutting through the illusion that made him look like Spike. “Giles!” Sam shouted again, his heart thudding in his chest as he stared up at the big, red-haired vampire straddling him. To his horror, the creature ripped open Sam’s shirt and sneered down at him, practically drooling.

“Go ahead, yell s’more,” the vampire mocked. “Struggle all ya want—I like to play with my food. But it ain’t gonna do ya any good. You’re as good as dead—which means the future is ours.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” came a distinctly British voice. The vampire craned his neck to see who had spoken and received a bone-cracking punch to the face.

“Thank God!” said Al. “I never thought I’d be so glad to see you.”

Sam shoved hard at the vampire, pushing him off of him and into the arms of Rupert Giles. Giles wasted no time throwing the vampire to the ground and laying into him with everything he had. The vampire kept trying to get back on his feet, but Giles knocked him down every time. Giles had his stake drawn, but he wasn’t finished getting his kicks in just yet—this fight was personal. Only when the vampire had been reduced to a pathetic, whimpering mass on the ground did he prepare to make the final blow.

“No! No, it’s not too late! Give me one more chance,” said the vampire to someone no one else could see. Sam realised it was the vampire’s observer from the future—Al’s counterpart—and that the evil leaper was being recalled. Sam crawled over to them and laid his hand on the vampire’s arm, blocking Giles’ aim in the process.

“Buffy, what are you doing?” asked Giles. “He was going to kill you.”

Sam shook his head. “He’s gone, Giles.” He was looking down at a very confused-looking Spike, the red-haired impostor having leapt out when he’d failed in his mission to kill Sam. “It’s Spike again.”

Giles looked down at the bleach-blond vampire as if he was considering staking him anyways, just to make him feel better.

“Bloody hell, Watcher—careful where you point that thing,” said Spike, rolling out of reach.

“It’s okay, Giles. I’m okay,” said Sam, clutching his ripped shirt closed.

“You did it, Sam!” said Al. “You stopped the apocalypse. When that vampire Lothos sent couldn’t kill you their whole plan must’ve fallen apart. See?” he said, waving his now-flashing hand link at his friend. “Ziggy’s back. So you can leap now.”

“Whatever happened here, I had nothin’ to do with it,” said Spike as he climbed painfully to his feet and brushed the dirt from his duster.

“Leave, Spike,” growled Giles. “Leave now.”

Spike managed to look indignant, even as he winced at the injuries he’d somehow mysteriously received. The last thing he remembered was trying to kiss Buffy, and the next thing he knew he was lying on the ground, beaten to a bloody pulp with an angry watcher about to stake him. He was smart enough to figure out that Giles wouldn’t hesitate to finish the job if he was given the opportunity. So he did the only thing he could do—he gave Giles the bird and limped away with as much dignity as he could manage.

“Any time now,” said Al. “Get ready to leap, Sam.”

“I don’t think my job here is finished just yet,” said Sam with a sparkle in his eyes.

“What was that, Buffy?” asked Giles, kneeling down next to him on the grass.

“I said, you don’t think you’re job here is finished yet, do you?” said Sam to Giles.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” he answered.

“I mean, you can’t leave,” said Sam. “You can’t go back to England.”

“Buffy, we talked about this…”

“Last night you said you wouldn’t leave me until I was back to my old self again,” said Sam. “Those were your exact words.”

Giles frowned, not knowing where this was headed. “Alright, I’ll go along with that.”

“Then you can never leave me, Giles, because I’ll never be my old self ever again. I’ll always be my new self—the one who loves you. The one who’s not afraid to tell you that.”

“Bad idea, Sam,” said Al. “Tell him you’re kidding, right now, or you’ll ruin their friendship forever.”

Giles looked like he was expecting him to tell him just that. He blinked at Sam speechlessly for a moment before finally finding his voice. “Buffy, if this is some kind of joke…if you’re just saying whatever you think I want to hear, just so I’ll stay…”

“Anyone ever tell you you think too much?” said Sam, and he reached his hand up and around the back of Giles’ neck, pulling him closer. He could feel the other man resisting, but when their lips finally met, Giles moaned and quickly gave in.

It was softer and sweeter than Sam expected it to be. But it was definitely different, and not in a bad way. Giles’ lips were demanding, pleading with him to deepen the kiss. Sam felt the other man’s tongue sweep across his lips, and he opened his mouth, trembling at the strange new sensation of being with another man. He lost himself in the embrace; allowing Giles to free something in him that he’d never guessed was there.

“Oh, g-a-a-a-w-d, Sam!” Al groaned, but Sam was too wrapped up in the kiss to even hear him, let alone realise that it was lust, not disgust, that had inspired the outburst.

When they at last broke the kiss, panting wantonly in their mutual desire, Giles clasped his hands with Sam’s and stared deeply into his eyes. “I love you, too, Buffy Summers.” Then, to prove the fact, he once again captured Sam’s lips with his own.

Al paced frantically, trying not to watch, but utterly failing to pull himself away from the sight of his best friend kissing another man. It hurt more than he could fathom, dredging up the deepest and most frightening feelings he’d kept buried through all those years of working alongside the brilliant young scientist. Just when he thought he could stand it no longer, the familiar sparkling blue lights appeared around Sam, enveloping him in an eerie, glowing aura, and Sam leaped.


	7. Epilogue

To say that Buffy was confused would be an understatement of super-size proportions. One minute she was on patrol with Xander, the next she found herself in the arms of Giles—Rupert Giles—secret British stud-muffin with a license to kiss. And he was putting that license to good use.

Although she knew she should be fighting it, going all ‘eww, ick!’, she instead discovered that nothing had ever felt more right. But the greater miracle was that she could feel anything at all! Ever since she’d been torn out of Heaven, she’d felt somehow separated from her emotions, like a part of her was still dead, despite the walking and the talking. But right now she felt more alive than she had in years.

She pulled Giles closer, as if she would climb right inside his clothes if she could, and squeezed him in a tight hug that made him grunt.

“Buffy! You’ve got your strength back,” he said.

Buffy smiled a toothy white grin at him. “All the better to hug you with,” she said, and put an end to their conversation with a kiss that bordered on the x-rated.

 

Al heard the knock at his office door and quickly piled some paperwork in front of him to make it look like he’d been working. Dr. Beeks entered discreetly, with a soft clearing of her throat. 

“Are you busy, Admiral?” she asked.

“I’m never too busy to see you, Beena,” said Al smoothly. “What can I do for you?”

“That’s what I was about to ask you,” she said, her chocolate brown eyes piercing right through him to his very core. “It’s been a week since Sam leapt out of Buffy Summers, and you’ve been holed up in your office ever since.”

“Lots to do, Doc. You know how it is—the Project is up for review at the end of the month, and that means I’ll be burning the midnight oil for a while.”

“So that’s why you haven’t been…’visiting’…Tina lately?” she asked. At Al’s look of shock, she added; “It’s all right, Admiral, I don’t think anyone else knows. I’m just more observant than most. But still, you seem to be more reclusive than usual. Anything I should be concerned about? Anything you want to talk to me about?”

“I know what you’re getting at, Beena, but I promise you I’m doing fine. It’s over—forgotten. Sam’s moved on, and so have I,” Al said with a confident smile.

Dr. Beeks studied him for a moment, waiting for a chink to develop in Al’s armour, but in the end she seemed convinced. “If you’re sure…”

“One hundred percent,” he said.

“You’ll let me know if you change your mind? My door’s always open, Al.”

“Thanks, Doc. I’ll keep that in mind,” said Al and he smiled warmly at her as she stepped gracefully out the door.

Once she was gone, Al slumped over his desk. It had taken everything he had to hold up to her inspection, but he’d done it. Casting a quick glance towards the door, he slowly moved the paperwork to the side and resumed what he’d been doing before he’d been interrupted.

Al stared down at a small snapshot taken of him and Sam at the Project’s first Christmas party. It was a candid shot; neither of them had realized the picture was being taken. Al studied Sam’s face, so young and vibrant, his eyes shining with the promise of a bright future, laughing at something Al had just said to him. Then he turned his attention to his own image—that haunted look on his face as he basked in his friend’s radiance. Only now did he understand what he’d been feeling all those years ago.

So many years wasted, living in denial and fear. But that was about to change. Thanks to recent events, the haunted young man in the photograph no longer existed. Al had finally made a choice, and that choice was Sam.


End file.
